All language subtitles for Review with Forrest MacNeil - 02x05 - Catfish; Haunted House.WEBRip

Life... it's literally
all we have.

But is it any good?

I'm a reviewer,

but I don't review

food, books, or movies.

I review life itself.

Over here.

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull
www.addic7ed.com

Welcome to Review.

The sailor standing before you
is named Forrest MacNeil,

and I am he.

Ahoy, there's a mermaid
to my left,

and her name is A.J. Gibbs.

What a weird intro.

Let's see what
we've got, eh?

Yes.

This next review
comes from a man

or woman named Merle
from Plano, Texas.

Okay.

Hi there, Forrest,

I've got four months left

on a subscription
to an Internet dating website

that has yielded me
exactly zero dates.

What's it like
to catfish someone?

- To catfish?
- Hmm.

Well, I don't know
what that is,

but I'm going to go find out,

and then I'll review it.

I'm sorry, what kind of fish
was it again?

From what I understand,

catfishing is
some kind of a prank,

wherein one party,
the fisherman,

creates a fake identity in order
to lure an unsuspecting party,

the fisherman's cat,

into falling in love
with this made-up phantom.

That's ridiculous.

Why would anybody
want to do that?

This review was sure
to be complicated by the fact

that my father and I
were now living in my office

because his first
and second homes

had been freakishly destroyed.

Aah!
We've got to get out of here!

And we were sharing the space

with my intern, Josh,
and his girlfriend, Tina,

who had been
squatting on my couch

without permission for months.

Seems like a crazy waste
of time for the catfisher.

Well, when I've done it,
I've done it for power,

for boredom, or, like,
when you just have 30 minutes

before a thing
you have to be at.

I just do it
'cause Tina does it.

Is everybody done?

Because one of us is
a life reviewer

who has to go out
and have this experience

and share special, universal
insights about it, okay?

That one is me.

I'm the life reviewer.

So, Lucille,
will you please give me

the HTML website address

for Googling things?

We've been through this.

Yes, I know.
You know what?

I'll write it
on a Post-it this time

and just keep it on my desk.

W...

- Yep.
- W...

Uh-huh.

W...

- Okay.
- Dot...

Yep.

- G...
- Mm-hmm.

- O...
- Okay.

- O...
- Yes.

- G...
- Yep.

- L...
- Mm-hmm.

E...

Dot...

Another dot?

Yeah.

- Okay.
- C...

- Mm-hmm.
- O...

Okay.

M.

And what do I do?
I just type that into Google?

Yep.

Boy, she really
knows this stuff, huh?

- She does, actually.
- Wow.

- She's great.
- Wow.

To begin
my catfishing experience,

I would first need my bait:

a fraudulent profile.

- How tall?
- Tall.

My roommates
insisted on helping,

and they decided this fake man
should love children...

- Kids and dogs.
- Like dogs...

- Tolerate your cats.
- And tolerate your cats.

- Be smart but not neurotic...
- Smart but not neurotic.

- Outstanding in bed.
- Outstanding in the bedroom

- but free of STDs.
- No STDs.

- He's known heartbreak...
- Heartbreak...

- But has no baggage.
- But he has no baggage.

- Wow.
- God, beautiful.

In short,
this online Frankenstein monster

was almost entirely the opposite
of Forrest MacNeil.

No baggage.

But there was one other thing

that I alone
would bestow upon him.

May I please be the one
to say what his name is?

And I knew
exactly what that name would be.

The most popular classmate
in my fourth grade class

was a boy impressively
named Charles Sweddington.

Now, one day
Charles wore his father's

Oscar de la Renta cologne
to school,

and from that point forward,
he became known as Oscar.

Oscar enjoyed his status
in our hierarchy

for quite a while until
a Swedish exchange student

with the delicious name
of Alvin Klassen arrived

to make a play
for the throne.

Now, by Christmas, Alvin
revealed himself to be deficient

in several key regions
of the brain,

including those responsible
for impulse control

and where to put your hands,

and the name Alvin
became synonymous with "weirdo."

So Charles Sweddington,

aka Oscar,
reclaimed his designation

as our most popular student,

and I, for one,
have never forgotten him.

Now that it's time
to choose my nom de catfish,

I know just what to do.

His name is Ace Shrift.

It is an anagram
for "catfisher."

You see, Charles Sweddington
appreciated an anagram

more than anyone
I have ever known.

He would love "Ace Shrift."

There is one final capstone
to place on this monument

to dishonesty.

Ace Shrift is going
to need a face.

I did an image search
on www.google.com.

"Very handsome man."

Oh, plenty of
uncomplicated-looking dullards

to choose from on here.

Please allow me to borrow
your very handsome head.

45 minutes later,

I had pasted
a handsome stranger's face

to my dating profile,

and I set my geographical
settings to "anywhere."

So let's just go ahead
and go live, as they say.

Wow, look at that.

I was instantly matched

with a number
of enticing ladies

and several nut jobs
from all over the world.

And then...

Oh.

[bleep].

To my utter astonishment,

one of the sad sack ladies

who matched with
the devilish cad, Ace Shrift,

was my ex-wife, Suzanne.

This was a stunning turn
of events,

and I did not know
how Ace would handle it.

While searching for victims
for my catfish scheme,

I somehow came across a woman

whose user name
is NoJerksPlease

but whose real name
is my ex-wife Suzanne,

a woman I had loved dearly
but had to divorce

so that others
might learn from my experience.

You are gonna die alone!

Let's not do this.
I don't want to be divorced.

But even when I begged her
to take me back four times...

Stop it.

She said no, no...

- [bleep]!
- No and no.

Sweetheart, don't...
Aah.

Although I have since
gotten over her completely,

there was something delicious
about a little harmless payback.

So here we go.
It's time to set the bait.

Many times in my life
I have approached a woman

and broken the ice
and been told to go away,

but this, waiting with
the chance of no reply at all,

is maddening.

Has she received the message?

'Cause her profile says

that she has been online
since I sent it,

but has she read it?

And if she has,

why is she rejecting Ace?

Maybe she's not interested
in the opposite of me at all.

I mean, maybe she...

Oh.

That's her.

Oh, that's Suzanne.

I have to confess,

I did feel a tinge of excitement
that she was interested in me...

by which I mean Ace,
who does not exist.

Deceiving Suzanne
in this way was exhilarating.

She had broken my heart.

She had refused to take me back,

but now, Ace Shrift
had given me the upper hand.

Ace was a cold-blooded fisherman

out to catch
a warm-blooded fish,

and I, Forrest, through Ace,

saw an opportunity
to toy with her heart

as she had toyed with mine.

Mr. MacNeil!

Close your stupid computer.

Your face looks
like a scary nightlight.

You're overplaying your hand.

She's gonna think
you're desperate, okay?

Shut your computer,
and go to sleep.

Catfishing was proving
to be a very satisfying pastime.

Oh, God.

Over the next few days,

Ace and Suzanne
became an online item.

They chatted each and every day
and often deep into the night.

Suzanne was falling for Ace,
and, truth be told,

Ace was not unmoved.

Then, a bombshell
dropped from the Internet.

My catfish wants to Skype.
What is Skype?

Oh, you're [bleep].

What am I supposed to do?
I wouldn't be catfishing her

if I'm sitting in front of my
computer looking at her, right?

You've done
a reverse image search?

What is that?

Put the image in,
find out who that is?

No!

I was now in the trickiest part
of catfishing,

where you have to find
the handsome man

whose picture you used
in your fake profile

and persuade him
to Skype with your ex-wife.

There he is.

Oh.

What?

That's Joe Dale Jr.,
the baseball player.

Thanks to
my complete ignorance

of professional sports,
I had chosen the face

of a shortstopman
for the Los Angeles Dodgers.

How about this place, huh?

On the bright side,
he was easy to locate

and can be hired
to make personal appearances

of any nature.

- Yo.
- Hello!

On the dark side,

his appearance fee

completely wiped out
my retirement account.

Did you bring
the cashier's check?

- Right here.
- Cool.

Beautiful, beautiful home.
Wow.

Hello, I'm Forrest.
This is my producer, Grant.

Hey, Joe,
if that's your wife,

we should just
make sure she's not...

- That's not my wife.
- Oh, okay.

Oh, you know what?
I didn't even ask you:

do you get Skype here?

Okay, it's almost time.

Did you want to put on
a pair of pants?

- No.
- All right.

I just want to make sure
you know everything

that there is to know
about Ace Shrift.

He's a real cool customer,
you know.

Like, he's not like anybody
you've ever met before.

He's really confident
with women,

kind of just knows his way
around the bases in life,

you know, and...
sorry, I feel like...

- Up a little higher.
- No.

- I'm good.
- Okay, all right.

- Do you mind if I just... sorry.
- Nah.

- I just...
- Nah.

Argh, I just feel...
No, it's not perfect!

Oh, oh, God! Okay.

All right, real quick.

You have a PhD
in animal husbandry,

and you've never had an STD.

Oh, and your favorite author
is Agatha Christie.

Okay.

Hey, beautiful.

- Hello.
- Hi.

Sorry, that's the TV.

Let me shut that off.

Um, I have to confess,

I kind of didn't believe
you were real.

I mean, "Ace Shrift"?

You know that your name
is an anagram

for "farce shit," right?

Yeah, I did,
but you know what else?

What?

I wondered the same way
about you, you sexy lady.

I worried that Suzanne
would know right away

that the grinning simpleton
on her computer

could not possibly be the
charming and witty Mr. Shrift.

But Suzanne, perhaps distracted
by the sight of an athlete

in his underpants,

wasted no time
getting into her backstory.

Not to get too much
into my backstory,

but I spent a lot of years

with the guy who I thought
I was meant to be with,

and so much of that just

turned out
to be like a gigantic detour.

So I'm just really ready to...
to move on.

This emotional moment was more
than Joe Dale Jr. could handle.

Hey, Suzanne,
my name's not Ace.

- What?
- It's Joe Dale Jr.

- No! Hey!
- I play shortstop for the Dodgers.

I'm sorry I was dishonest,

but if I use my real name,

women aren't honest with me.

I-I bet.

I thought I could do this,
but I can't.

Whatever begins with dishonesty
always ends in a bad spot.

Trust me, I know.

I'm a baseball player.

And then Joe, for some reason,

again told my ex-wife
that she seemed like...

A great and very sexy lady.

However...

We probably shouldn't
contact each other anymore.

No, I get it.

I will miss seeing your face

because it's just
really great-looking.

- Good-bye.
- Bye, Ace Shrift.

Oh!

The cat has been fished!

I was terrified!

That whole time you were like,

"I'm not Ace Shrift,
I'm Joe Dale,"

I was like, "What are you doing?

You're gonna give away
the whole catfish thing."

Thank you
for ending it like that.

Just ending it.
It's over.

That's the best $40,000
I've ever spent in my life.

That was
a terrific investment.

- Yes.
- Yeah.

Well, you guys probably
have a lot going on and...

- That's right.
- No, actually, no.

- Yeah, we should get going.
- Yeah.

Catfishing, just as Joe Dale Jr.
so eloquently put it,

begins with dishonesty
and ends up in a bad spot.

But there's a part
in the middle there

where the catfisher tricks
his ex-wife into believing

that she will find happiness
with some fictitious person,

and though it's brief...

and in retrospect,
it's pretty disgusting...

in the moment,

it's breathtaking.

Catfishing, three stars.

What is my next review,
please, A.J.?

What are you doing?

Well, Forrest, did you know
that in Civil War times

people used to write letters
to each other

on thinly sliced trees?

- Paper, I know all about paper.
- Oh.

Yeah, big fan.

Our very first ever
old person pen pal...

Mm-hmm.

Is from Steamboat Springs,
Colorado.

Oh, let me guess the zip code,

80477.

That actually was right.

Yeah, I know all the zip codes.

That's weird.

- "Dear Forrest MacNeil,
- Hmm.

"By the time you read this,

- I'll be dead."
- Wow.

"The gals
in my stitch-n-bitch group

"are devastated about it

"because they believe
my awful ghost will haunt them.

"What's it like to spend
the night in a haunted house?

Sincerely, I.L. Salazar."

Huh. Okay.

Well, here I go to find out

what it's like to spend a night
in a haunted house.

Might be
some ghosts there.

There is
a very creepy abandoned house

in the neighborhood
where I grew up,

and I headed there with my dad

for the purposes
of father-son bonding

and also because I was scared.

I had forgotten
about the old Durretz house

and its outlandish
and gruesome tale.

A century ago,
we are told,

a farmer murdered
his entire extended family,

and he ground them up, and
then he fed them to his pigs.

50 years after that,
they say,

the house became haunted
by an unrelated ghost.

Ghosts may or may not exist,

but in our world, they do not.

Our evening
in the Durretz house

was therefore deeply boring,

affording me the soundest sleep
I'd had in weeks.

But then...

something happened.

Not an encounter
with the earthbound soul

of a dead person
but an important idea.

Perhaps inspired by my recent
experience with catfishing,

I realized that
I did know a house

that was actually haunted.

This is the house where I lived
with my ex-wife, Suzanne,

and my son, Eric.

This house holds the ghost
of what my life used to be.

Forrest!

Gene!

You're kidding me.

My old neighbor
and former best friend, Gene,

was like a vision
from a life I had lost.

It's me, Forrest.

Forrest MacNeil
from the past.

Yeah, I remember.

I'm just visiting
the old house.

You're visiting
the old house right now?

Yeah, mm-hmm.

Hmm.

Well, the people that live there
are on vacation,

so you might want to come back
during the daytime

'cause it's, uh...
bad to come at midnight.

I understand.

Okay, I guess this isn't really
my place anymore, huh?

No, you...
you sold it.

It was great
to see you again.

And... and you're leaving now?

Now, yes.

I believe
I will see you again.

Oh, wow.

The lock on this window
was always broken,

so, assuming they
haven't fixed it,

I should be able
to very carefully, very...

Aw, [bleep] [bleep]!

God damn it.

I'm in.
Come in.

My quest to spend a night

in a haunted house had
brought me to hallowed ground.

This is where I lived with
my boy and the love of my life.

They've made a lot
of bad choices here.

It's terrible.

Do they have any idea what came
before them in this space?

Do they even care?
I don't know.

But I do know they need to get
rid of that chair right away.

Mmm!

I feel like there's a realm

where we didn't get divorced
right here.

Suzanne and I
are still married.

There was a murder
in this kitchen,

the murder of a marriage.

Oh, give me the strength
to go upstairs.

Oh.

What if I walk into that bedroom

and Suzanne and I
are in there?

Nope.

It occurs to me now

that there is a ghost
haunting this house tonight.

It's me.

Boo!

I had hoped that the alcohol

would act
as a kind of talisman...

Suzanne.

Warding off
the frightening specter

of my slaughtered former life.

But it only brought on
greater horrors.

What was that?

Did you hear that?

Oh!

Hello?

Who are you?
What do you want?

Is that the language
they speak in hell?

[bleep].

We got to get out of here.

And the horrors had just begun.

Gene?

Oh, God.
Oh!

Oh.

Why did you do that to me?

Oh, God!

Aah!

That woman was Grandma Choi,
the matriarch of the family

that bought the house
from Suzanne.

She's afraid of flying,
so she didn't join

the rest of her family
in Hawaii.

She unfortunately mistook me
for an intruder

and stabbed me
just above the navel,

puncturing my large intestine.

Oh, my God, Forrest.

Well, I'm building up a pretty
good tolerance to physical pain,

so no big deal.

Now, my experience
with haunted houses taught me

that we create phantoms

to avoid thinking about our own
frightening or sad realities.

Spending a night
in a haunted house, one star.

So what happened to your dad?

What do you mean?

You left him
to spend a night alone

in a real haunted house.

Oh, yeah.

Huh.

Sync and corrections by explosiveskull
www.addic7ed.com

Ooh, look in here.

Why would a ghost choose
to live here, you know?

Why do we assume
that ghosts want to live

in dilapidated houses?

- Ghosts can go anywhere, can't they?
- Yes.

If I were a ghost,
I'd probably go live

in Buckingham Palace.

I think they like
the free maintenance.